


all bloody knuckles, longing for home

by Applemysteries



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applemysteries/pseuds/Applemysteries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the May fic prompt~ Option 6c: Write about moving home.<br/>“Now I don’t have to feel guilty.” “Feel guilty about what?” “Moving on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	all bloody knuckles, longing for home

It takes everything he has to keep her out of his mind, she’s the first person he thinks of when he see the color yellow, when he licks the corner of his lips, when he breathes in the salty, ocean air, when he sees his own reflection.

It happens in flashes, her sparkling green eyes, her smile slowly blossoming like a flower, and the reminder that he’s going to love this girl forever.

Sometimes the intensity of it doubles him over, leaves him with clenched fists, digging half moon scars into the palms of hands, and then he opens them and gazes down at the little flecks of blood, wishing that it could’ve been him.

Mostly, the intensity of it just hollows him. Keeps clawing and clawing inside of him until there’s nothing left to claw. He tries to dull it, with alcohol, with his father’s fists, and with systematically breaking one Veronica Mars into tiny, little, unfixable pieces.

The next time he scrutinizes his self inflicted wounds, the beads of red don’t immediately make him think of tied cherry stems, champagne bottles with red lipstick clinging to the mouth pieces’ edges, and the words, ‘I love you’ tickling the lobe of his ear. Instead, he thinks of the smell of christmas in the morning, a soft, gentle smile like dew on grass in the twilight, and the way a teardrop shines and glistens right before it splashes down a face, how the sound of it hitting the floor is the loudest sound in the world.

He hurts himself just a little bit more for that, but it doesn’t stop.

 //

The May night is cool, but that doesn’t deter his long sleeved shirt from clinging to him with sweat, and his hand shakes as he desperately pulls at the fraying thread at the hem of his sleeve. If he can just pull it out, without unraveling his shirt, then he can be redeemed, he can wash away the past year and the ever flickering montage of blondes constantly parading in his head. He can be saved.

Veronica Mars touched this thread. She touched this thread while blearily begging him to take her home, voice soft and low like they were long lost friends rather than bitter, acrid….well, strangers doesn’t seem to fit, but neither does enemies.

She wrapped her index finger around this string and asked him to take her home and he’d told her to close her eyes and then he poured salt onto her body and watched people who called her a cunt behind her back, or to her face, lap it up off of her. And her finger had untangled from the thread and it had hung, suspended in the air for just a single moment, and he’d one of those what the fuck am I fucking doing moments where he knew if he could just pull his head out of his ass he could put a stop to this, he could undo it all. Then a breeze fluttered by, and he was distracted by the flutter of the gently golden star lights, and when he’d looked back down the string had blended back in with his shirt.

Sean Friedrich’s tongue went from the base of Veronica’s cleavage to the bottom of her right ear lobe, and Logan smiled, all teeth, and handed him his shot.

Cynthia, Cindy, whatever the hell her name is, chooses this particular moment to remind him of her existence, sliding her hands up along his sides, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over him, finally making his shirt back off, the wind kissing every inch of now exposed skin, reminding him of who he is, rather that fantasizing about who he could’ve been.

He’s Logan Echolls, and he’s angry. Angry at how much time he just wasted thinking about her when he should’ve been thinking about-

He snatches a conveniently strewn about can of white spray paint off the ground, ripping the top off and stalking over to Veronica’s car. The front windshield is already taken but that’s okay because whores like it more when they’re bent over on their hands and knees anyway.  

Once he’s finished defacing her car, he lets the canister slip out of his fingers as if it were sand. Breathing heavily he backs away from the vehicle, fighting the very strong urge to throw up all over Cindy’s shoes.

The can strikes the concrete driveway hard as they both read the words, “Abel it should’ve been her.”

//

The two of them are beginning to blur together. He’s not sure how it happens but one second he’s smashing in her headlights and the next second he’s smiling over at her during memorial ceremonies for no reason at all.

It has to be because he misses her. In his memories the two of them are always joined at the hip, cinnamon and bubblegum sitting side by side, happy as can be. It has to be because when he sees that flash of yellow hair for a moment he can forget that she was taken from him.

At least, that’s what he’s telling himself when he starts being kinder, less antagonistic towards her. When he drifts off to sleep and he doesn’t feel the ghost of lips brushing against his ear, but instead the white hot imprint of lips on his cheek, and the weight displacement that his hands, even after days, can’t seem to get over.

It’s the twirling of a shimmery gold dress and then it’s the twirling of a blonde girl in pigtails and then it’s leveling the height playing field because 5’1’’ is actually very different from 5’3’’.

He tells her that he keeps thinking things can’t get worse, and she doesn’t even watch him walk away.

//

The temperature has been unusually warm for May, but as he’s standing directly above the San Diego Bay, he can’t exactly feel it.

He can’t get the thought of her out of his head. She’s spinning past him, slow enough that he can see every agonizing moment, but too fast for him to catch her wrist and steady her. His fingers are itching to crumble, to fold in on themselves and scrape out more of his emotions, swap one pain for another.

But if he’s honest with himself, and standing on the ledge of a bridge does seem like the appropriate moment to finally be honest, hurting himself had only served to make the pain worse, and it’s time that he found a more permanent solution. 

The air is thick with salt, and licking his lips tastes like he’s already submerged in the water. It’s almost pitch black but if he stares hard enough at the water he can begin to see the imaginings of his own reflection.

He outlines the shape of his body for so long with his eyes, that the rest of the world begins to fade away. There is nothing but the hard, stabbing ground under his feet, and the calm, inviting waters waiting below.

On the surface of what he’s taken to be his chin, Logan swears he can see yellow strands of hair shimmering beneath the water.

He steps off the ledge.

//

“I was hoping it would be you,” Veronica murmurs.

He steps forward and cups her bruised cheek in his hand, pressing reverent kisses to the top of her head.

“Me too,” He whispers, and everything feels right.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. S/O to 11:10 pm google searches of “how does a salt lick work?” followed by a very confused nineteen year old girl accidentally reading several articles on how animals lick minerals nutrients from deposits, and, apparently, so can certain types of fauna.  
> 2\. Even bigger S/O to one Jim Gordon for responding to a question on Quora on February 13th of this year, that asked, “Why do drinkers take lime and salt after a shot of tequila?”  
> 3\. Did you know that the Coronado Bridge is the third deadliest suicide bridge in the United States? In completely related news, The National Suicide Hotline number is 1-800-784-2433.  
> 4\. Lastly, and, most importantly, a big huge heaping thank you to Maddie (skimthrough) for looking this over for me and giving me feedback! I love you endlessly.


End file.
